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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25125307">that dare not speak its name</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/interstiellar/pseuds/interstiellar'>interstiellar</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon Asexual Character, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Spoilers for Episode 159, no beta we die like romans</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 09:35:28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,308</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25125307</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/interstiellar/pseuds/interstiellar</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A story told through a hair tie, rice balls, and the repressed feelings of a dwarven cleric.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Zolf Smith/Oscar Wilde</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>83</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>that dare not speak its name</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">


        <li>
            Inspired by

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22643743">A Little Help</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miri1984/pseuds/Miri1984">Miri1984</a>.
        </li>

    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This was supposed to be sadder but I cannot even begin to delve into the rich chocolate torte of implications and possibilities between these two men. Not to be controversial or anything but zoscar rights babey! Ep 159 really got me good with that pun.</p><p>Title is from that one Oscar Wilde quote that I've wanted to use for years and ended up using here.</p><p>Enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>In retrospect, Zolf would never have imagined he'd be in this situation. Even worse, he could not for the life of him figure out when he started seeing Oscar Wilde </span>
  <em>
    <span>in that way.</span>
</em></p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
  <span>They've just arrived in Hiroshima, and he had a shopping list he promised to get for the man. It had been automatic, asking Wilde if he wanted anything. Zolf knew how deep in his work Wilde would get, foregoing meals and personal errands for the sake of the mission. So Zolf took it upon himself to step in and make it so that Wilde wasn't burning the candle at both ends. If that meant knocking on his office door with a lunch tray in hand or steadily accumulating a bag of holding's worth of shopping that included a shaving kit, bottles of lotion, and something called </span>
  <em>
    <span>Guerlain Homme Eau de Parfum, </span>
  </em>
  <span>then so be it. </span>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
  <span>As he was looking around the packed market, crossing out items on the list, something managed to catch his eye. It was almost buried under the pile of bauble it was on, if not for the stunning shade of burgundy that made it stand out. It was a silk ribbon, no more than 5 inches long, upon which a small emerald pendant encased in gold hung.</span>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
  <span>"You have a good eye, sir." An elderly woman's voice chirped in broken English. Zolf started, confused as to when his feet began walking towards the stall to take a better look. The woman nodded towards the ribbon, not unkindly. "A hair tie for your sweetheart?"</span>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
  <span>Zolf's first thought was, </span>
  <em>
    <span>His hair has been getting long.</span>
  </em>
  <span> This was immediately followed by, </span>
  <em>
    <span>He is not my sweetheart.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
  <span>What came out of his mouth instead was: "Err. Umm. I- Hm." </span>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
  <span>The woman, nonplussed by his incoherency, continued to smile. "They'd appreciate it, I'm sure."</span>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, Zolf knew very well that he could just shake his head and be on his way. But Wilde's hair </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>getting quite long. The hair tie would be a practical purchase. And on top of it all, he'd stop himself from looking more like a fool to this merchant.</span>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
  <span>So he awkwardly asked for the price, paid for the ribbon, and hurriedly stuffed it into his coat pocket. He walked away from the stall red-faced, the woman cheerily bidding him goodbye, and tried not to think about how the emerald pendant matched with his own circlet.</span>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
  <span>He is Wilde to him because he can't be anything else. Calling him Oscar now would bring implications. He isn't like Hamid, who'd called him by that name almost from the start. So he swallows that name down every time it wants to spill past his lips. </span>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
  <span>Zolf remembers the first time he wanted to call him Oscar. They'd only been in Japan for a few weeks. He'd been the first one up, and he decided to try his hand in making a proper Japanese style breakfast as a last ditch effort to get Wilde to eat more than "functionally enough to live". By the time Wilde had gotten downstairs, he'd prepared multiple servings of miso soup, rice balls, omelettes, grilled salmon, dried seaweed, and green tea. He watched as Wilde stared at his meticulously arranged breakfast in confusion.</span>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
  <span>"This isn't a full English Breakfast." </span>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
  <span>"Nope, it isn't."</span>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
  <span>"How do I eat it?"</span>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
  <span>Stifling a chuckle, Zolf nodded at the spoon and fork. "You'll notice that I didn't swap out the utensils for chopsticks."</span>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
  <span>"No, I meant more along the lines of... Well, it looks like it should be eaten in an order?" </span>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
  <span>Zolf stared at him blankly. Gods, he was such an aristocrat sometimes.</span>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
  <span>"Just eat your breakfast. Start with whichever dish catches your eye first." </span>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilde looked down at the array in front of him and, to Zolf's horror, tentatively tried to spear a rice ball with his fork.</span>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
  <span>"Wait, wait, no!"</span>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
  <span>The fork paused halfway, his protest met with an inquiring frown. "What?"</span>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
  <span>"You don't stab rice balls! You eat it with your hands!"</span>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
  <span>"So there </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> a proper way to eat these."</span>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yes! I mean, no! Just-"</span>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
  <span>Zolf grabs a rice ball, holding it at the base with one hand. "Look, see? It has a shape. If you stab it with a fork, it'll fall apart and the filling will come out."</span>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilde looks at the rice ball with distrust, but he doesn't argue and picks one up. He looks back to Zolf for guidance.</span>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
  <span>Zolf tries very, very hard to take this seriously, and he succeeds through sheer willpower alone. He takes a bite of his own rice ball, gesturing for Wilde to do the same.</span>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilde does, and it's like watching a light turn on. His face looks like that of a child in awe over a magic trick. He carefully chews, swallows, and says, "This is quite delicious. What's inside it?"</span>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
  <span>"The one you just ate had dried plum. The rest have different fillings."</span>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilde takes this answer as though it is a treasured family recipe passed down generation after generation. He nods, takes another bite, then another, and finishes it off. He takes another ball and asks, "And this one?"</span>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
  <span>"Tuna, I think."</span>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
  <span>This bite is accompanied by a delighted hum. </span>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
  <span>Zolf, more than a little bit charmed, and immensely grateful that Wilde seems to have an appetite, pushes another plate of rice balls towards him. "Eat as much as you'd like, O- Wilde. There's plenty where that came from."</span>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
  <span>Damn Wilde. Damn him and his infuriating smirk, which Zolf had </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> missed thank you very much.</span>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
  <span>"It wasn't even a good pun.", he muttered irritably, hands absently twisting the ribbon around his finger. He sighed, leaning back in bed. It wasn't a good pun, and yet all he'd come up with in response was "Time and a place Wilde, time and a place.", which was only a tad less revealing than his initial thought, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Take me to dinner first</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
  <span>The world as he knew it is literally ending and he still found the time to harbor a crush. </span>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a relief though, to see him smile. Even if just a little bit. He'd almost forgotten that rakish gleam Wilde got in his eye whenever he delivered a line. </span>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
  <span>Zolf groaned and smothered his face with a pillow.</span>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh Harrison Campbell,</span>
  </em>
  <span>he thought desperately. </span>
  <em>
    <span>We're really in it now.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
  <span>Even he could admit that they were dancing around it.</span>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
  <span>He thought he was imagining it at first. A few seconds of too long eye contact after a mission debrief. The brush of bodies as they pass each other down the corridor. Little things, nothing to write home about, except for the fact that it made his hands clammy and his heart beat just a little faster. Then one day he looked, </span>
  <em>
    <span>really looked</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and found Oscar Wilde looking back. A silent understanding passed between them, a breathless moment when he knew that he wasn't alone. Then it was over, and business carried on as usual.</span>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
  <span>They didn't talk about it. They didn't need to. There is too much at play, far too many lives at stake. The mission always came first.</span>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
  <span>He found Wilde stood on the deck, arms leaning against the railing, looking out over the side of the ship. It was a cool night, accompanied by the occasional gust of air. Every few seconds an errant lock of hair would escape from where Wilde had tucked it behind his ear, and Zolf watched as he huffed, gave up, and let his hair be blown by the wind. Zolf, double checking that he was clipped on, began to gingerly walk towards him.</span>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm surprised Earhart allowed you within 20 feet of her." He said, nodding towards the bow where the Captain steered the wheel. Cel stood beside her, excitedly talking her ear off and making increasingly complex hand gestures. "Or maybe she's just distracted."</span>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilde turned to look at him, an eyebrow raised. "I'm even more surprised you're out here on the deck. Gotten over the air sickness, have you?"</span>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
  <span>Zolf gave him a half-hearted glare. "Was beginning to get cabin fever. Azu and Hamid are getting drunk in the lounge. Well, Hamid is."</span>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilde gave a considering hum, though he turned back to survey the night sky. The moon shone down on them, full and bright, and stars dotted them from all sides. They stood there for a time, quietly basking in the other's presence. Zolf was even starting to properly appreciate being on an airship when he chanced a peek at Wilde and gave a small snort.</span>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
  <span>"You look like you had a nasty fight with an air elemental."</span>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
  <span>A sigh, then; "I should cut it. It's more trouble than it's worth."</span>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
  <span>"Nah, rather think it suits you." Zolf replied unthinkingly, before Wilde stilled and looked at him, and it took him a few seconds to realize just what it was he said. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Shit</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilde gave him a pleased smile and began to card his fingers through his hair. "I'd have to tie it back then."</span>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
  <span>Zolf's hand went to the inner pocket of his coat, where the ribbon's presence had steadily burned a hole, and held it out towards Wilde. "Might have something for that."</span>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
  <span>Surprised, Wilde takes the ribbon, his fingertips grazing Zolf's palm. Zolf shivered slightly at the contact, suddenly hyper aware of how close they were. Wilde cradles it in his hand, mouth curving into a full blown smile, his eyes wrinkling around the edges.</span>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's beautiful." He said, voice low. He traces a finger delicately along the length of the ribbon, before he strokes it over the pendant. He looks down at Zolf, eyes filled with an emotion that Zolf knew mirrored his own, though which he dares not put a name too. This great unspoken chasm between them, getting bigger and bigger, until it threatened to swallow them whole.</span>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
  <span>"Would you tie it for me? You're the one who knows your knots." </span>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
  <span>Zolf could feel his ears start to flush, though he managed to hide his own grin behind a cough. He got out a dry, "As you've said. You have a comb?"</span>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilde gestured for Zolf to follow him, and he led him down the deck, to the sleeping quarters, and towards his bedroom. It was neat and hardly lived in, except for the stack of papers on the desk, a quill, and an ink pot. Wilde moved them all to the side to make space before he rummaged inside a drawer, holding up a hand-held mirror and comb triumphantly. He placed them on the desk and sat down.</span>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
  <span>This close, Zolf could scent the soaps Wilde used for his hair. He could smell the freshness of mint, along with a faint hint of rosemary. Gently, he brushed Wilde's hair away from his face, took the comb, and began to smooth out the strands. </span>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
  <span>It was softer than he imagined, and for a brief moment he thought about spending hours carding his fingers through it, with Wilde preferably resting his head on his lap. He willed that fantasy away just as Wilde gave a soft sigh of contentment. He combed through it a few more seconds, pulled it back, and tapped two fingers on the back of Wilde's hand that still held the ribbon. "Tie?"</span>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilde handed it over and Zolf deftly began to tie it into a low ponytail, finishing it off into a bow with the pendant dangling in the middle. The fabric's deep wine color contrasted well with Wilde's ebony locks. He took the mirror and held it up so Wilde could see his handiwork. "Well?"</span>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
  <span>Turning his head this way and that, Wilde murmured a small, "It's perfect, thank you." His voice had taken on a soft tone, and Zolf swallowed before nodding wordlessly. He placed the mirror back on the desk before turning as if to leave, eyes carefully avoiding Wilde's.</span>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
  <span>"I should go-"</span>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
  <span>A hand shot out and caught his wrist. Zolf stumbled a bit, balancing himself by clutching the back of the chair. This meant that he was effectively leaning towards Wilde, who had turned to the side to stop him from leaving. Their faces were inches from each other and he could see that Wilde's cheeks were pink with embarrassment, his eyes slightly lidded.</span>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
  <span>A beat.</span>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
  <span>Zolf wanted nothing more than to lean into him, to press his lips against his. What would it be like to taste him? To feel the heat of him under his hands? </span>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
  <span>He can't. He gives an almost imperceptible shake of his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilde understands. Of course he does, though it doesn't stop the quick pang of regret when the other man just nods and releases him. Wilde turns back to the desk and begins putting away his mirror and comb, giving Zolf time to straighten up and collect himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
  <span>He heads towards the door, hand on the knob, when Wilde tentatively calls out.</span>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
  <span>"Zolf?"</span>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
  <span>He turns around. "Yeah?"</span>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilde looks at him, hesitant, as though waiting for a rebuke. "Have you eaten? Would you care to join me for dinner?" </span>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
  <span>What a ridiculous man. As if they haven't shared a hundred meals together. As if Zolf would say no. They could have this at least, the pleasure of being in the other's company.</span>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sure, Wilde." He watches as the man loses any remaining uncertainties, the muscles in his face relaxing. Zolf opens the door and gestures for him to lead the way. </span>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
  <span>Much later, when the rest of the party trickles into the dining room, Azu compliments Wilde's new hair tie and updo. Wilde's hand flies to the back of his head, and gives a small, secret smile. "Thank you. It was a lovely gift." And briefly meets Zolf's eyes across the table.</span>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
  <span>Zolf takes a sip of wine and smiles.</span>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Still cannot believe that after 6 years of WIPs and writer's block, I churn this whole thing out in my notes app after listening to all of RQG in a month, the power Alexander J. Newall has is terrifying.</p><p>This is dedicated to the fanfiction.net user who commented on my fic in 2014 and told me to keep writing, sorry it took so long and that this has nothing to do with DW.</p><p>You can shout at me on tumblr @interstiellar or add me on discord @ interstiellar#7506!</p><p>Thanks for reading!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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